


Ravishing darkness, tempting beasts and devotion

by Nalyra



Series: Stormy blue, tinged with sunlight and tar [8]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood, Bottom Hannibal, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, I Love You, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Murder Husbands, Original Character(s), POV First Person, POV Hannibal, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 06:30:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8276084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nalyra/pseuds/Nalyra
Summary: Enhanced/missing scene from "Transition".Hannibal saying 'I love you' the first time must be hard earned indeed^^.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Back to Hannigram after BTRD2 :)

His hands push at my eyelids, and I can hear his frantic breath, puffing close to my face, groggy pain zinging through me and I groan, thoughts sluggish. The world visible to me is at a weird angle and slowly tilting, snapping the other way when his hand slaps my cheek. I open my eyes, my soul latching onto his distress like a leech, and he seethes a ‚finally‘ at me, which would make me smirk if I had proper control over the muscles in my body. He grabs my arm and pulls me out of what I realize just now is the car rather unceremoniously, my movements sluggish.

The sharp smell of burnt flesh tickles my nose, as does his sweaty skin, almost steaming in the cold air. I distantly realize the burned flesh is on the soles of my feet when I step on them, but the thought lasts only a millisecond before Will pulls me over and into the boat, carefully but frantically arranging my limbs on the seat, until I am actually settled. I raise my eyes when Will jumps back up to the stage, starts to wipe at our fingerprints, his shirt in tatters where he ripped it, the kevlar vest he still wears soaked through with sweat. My fingers twitch to reach for him but there is the dim thought that in my current condition I would just be in his way. The landing stage groans under the cars weight, tilting even more and Will jumps back down into the boat, throws the harness lines and pushes us off, breath coming in harsh gasps, his skin literally glowing in the early evenings low light, ethereal and untamed, shrouded in darkness. He looks at me and I see him draw his brows together, no doubt wondering at my thoughts, but how could I possibly convey the purity of the dark vision that he is, here, now, fighting for us.

Will starts the engine, shaking his head as if to clear it of my regard, shaking with breaths drawing not enough oxygen, focusing on the way ahead. I sluggishly hold onto the handles as our boat roars up and almost jumps into top speed, followed by the resounding impact of the car, toppling over and sinking another sailing boat in the process, the landing stage righting itself after a moment. I blink slowly, my vision still swimming a bit, the landing stages movements echoing the dull throb in my veins.

 

_____________________

 

I doze slightly, my eyes unfocused on him, always him, rushing us to safety. He has calmed down somewhat, though I can still smell the remnants of adrenaline on him, its acidic flavor an addictive addition to the salty sweat that only enhances his body odor. I badly want to lean over and lick at his clavicle, just visible above the vest, but I refrain, his whole body stance literally yelling to leave him alone. And, for once, I believe he has more than earned anything he wishes of me. 

I sourly inspect my own feelings on the matter, the incredulity of being taken down so easily by something as simple electricity. I grimace, chancing a look at my feet, knowing I will end up scrubbing the carpet in our living room clean sooner or later. A vision of Will watching me enters my mind, a ridiculous adaption of that hilarious scene in Roman Polanskis ‚The fearless vampire killers‘, a true classic by now, followed by a twinge of regret at the beauty and talent wasted with Sharon Tates death.

I sigh quietly, careful not to show the levity of my thoughts, no empathy needed to know it would be rather unappreciated just now, and for once, I do concur.  
Will is shaking with exhaustion when the Demeter comes up, slowing and drifting up to her, taking off the kevlar armor with slow, tired movements, turning to get a t-shirt from our bags. I notice he refuses to look at me, or -him- for the matter, even as he throws a blanket over him, and a sliver of excitement runs through me, knowing the buildup to an explosion when I see one. I narrow my eyes at the sounds of drunk juveniles, dismissing them from my thoughts though right away immediately, utter inconsequential to our quest.

Will secures the lines and then stops, his head dropping several inches before he turns and looks at me, the first time in almost two hours, his eyes traveling along my body slowly, checking me over, analytical and clinical in regard. I am aware why and yet it hurts to be removed from his emotional regard. He bends down, his head so close to my lap and I want to grab his curls and pull him up, pull him to me, keep him close. He checks my feet, and I wordlessly take his hand when he pulls up again, fighting against the impulse once more. My feet do not carry me as they should, the pain inconsequential but the numbness making me stumble, stopping on the landing, turning to help Will with our catch. Because that is what our prisoner is, and I wonder if Will feels the same, feels the need to take his anger at destroying our dreamy hideaway out on him.

Will wraps the man in the blanket and in a line, and we pull him onboard, both of us panting. Will bats my hands away when I try to help retrieving our bags, almost coughing with exhausted breaths when he heaves them onboard, drags his feet to the second cabin and throws the bags in there, the food in the kitchen and our self-built fridge.

He stumbles and almost falls on the three steps up to the main cabin room and  
I take three quick steps over to him, catching him and lowering us down until we are both kneeling, Wills sweaty forehead pressing into my left shoulder, his panted breaths hot against my chest. There is a hitch in his breath and he sobs, before rearing back, pushing me away, an inappropriate rush of excitement running through me at the harsh handling. He bares his teeth at me and I wonder if he can see the evidence of what this does to me, lips twitching in the approximation of a smile when he leaves me there, kneeling, at his feet. I turn my head slightly to watch him sink the small boat, his silhouette a silvery outline against the waters tranquility, moonlight robbing him of colors.

I raise my eyes to his when he turns to me, watch as he tilts his head, an almost cruel and hard edge to his voice, commanding even though phrased as a question.

„Are you well enough to go through the checklists for food and water once more?“

I shiver slightly, not trusting my voice, my reactions to him something to be savored indeed and so very much more just for him, the impulse to literally submit to the force of nature that he is never before felt. I push myself up, not caring that I leave even more bloody footprints on the carpet, keeping my bodies reaction hidden from his view, knowing a release from the buildup would be more than unwise now, while we are still in port. I force myself through the checklists, checking every cabinet and the fridges, carefully stocked with everything we could possibly need in the next few months. I hear him step up to the flybridge, checking the boat and I purse my lips, my fingers hovering over the foil I packed in abundance, a thought crossing my mind. I hear him come back down and step out to the little kitchenette, nodding at his inquiring look. Will steps passed me and gets a thick jacket, taking an energy drink from the aft storage, drinking it down in long swallows. I watch his throat work, appreciating how the tendons stand out in stark relief, the muscles playing in the soft light.

He throws out the harness lines and pushes the Demeter from the landing stage, back and shoulders rippling under the shirt, letting us drift away slowly. I avert my eyes as he turns, knowing I would draw him in otherwise, his slow steps up to the flybridge thundering in my ears, matched only by the engines roar when he takes us away from Marseille.

______________________

 

I close my eyes for an instant, falling into my senses, the smells and sounds permeating my consciousness fully. The blood on the carpet from my feet, the slow, labored breathing of the man still trussed up like a turkey on the aft deck, the smell and refreshing draft of the sea rushing by.

I take a moment to ponder my feelings, a need to see Will unleashed coupling with the baser need of sexual exultation, triggered by our almost fatal encounter. I smile, proudly, the need coiling tighter. I retreat to our cabins bathroom, pulling out the gauze, sitting down on the toilet and cleaning the wounds on my feet matter of factly. The burns are not overly deep, shallowly bleeding and I wrap them tightly, opting for speed and cleanliness for now. I get up with a deep breath, my gaze falling upon the lube on the little vanity stand outside the door. Later. 

I step into the second cabin, taking out the foil with a smirk, quickly but efficiently decorating the cabin with it, all surfaces covered rather quickly. I step up to the aft deck, and drag the hitman down to the cabin, his head hitting the stairs with low thuds. I lick along my teeth, upper lip twitching into a snarl for a moment, cold contempt and satisfaction merging with anticipation. I unwrap him from the blanket and put him on the one bunk, the mans limbs heavy and unresponding, though I can feel a faint heartbeat. I raise my eyes, pride mixing with the low grade arousal that still has me in its grip. How beautiful my mongoose is. And how very efficient. I turn the man, inspecting the wound in the back. Only deep enough to reach the spine, the wound grisly in appearance, the knife apparently twisted and turned with force. I lick my lips, the aroma of the blood making my mouth water. How I would have loved to have seen this happening. 

I twist my lips in disgust at myself, a sliver of regret making me the need even more prominent. I secure the man to the bunk with even more foil, unnecessary as it may be, raising my eyes to the ceiling in contemplation after. Will is up there, a few feet above me, steering us towards Italy. Protecting us, emotions deliberately staunched, probably ready to explode at any second. I check the clock in the kitchenette, deeming it safe to prepare before Will in turn deems us safe enough to anchor. I smirk, wondering what Will might take from our prisoner, my mind coming up with dozens of recipes, already going through the ingredients mentally, opening a wine to let it breathe.

It is 3:30 am and I purse my lips, contemplating. I enter the little bathroom, taking the crinkled and soiled pants off, as well as my underwear after a moment. My finger traces the little tube for a moment, before I take it and squeeze some on my fingers, reaching back to prepare myself, my mind supplying ample scenarios that the night could end in, all very much welcome indeed. I arch back, thrusting back into myself for a moment before I withdraw, cleaning and redressing calmly, my cock heavy against my stomach, happily awaiting the backlash.

I step out and up to the living room, my eyes falling upon the backpack there, and I sift through it, taking all electronic gear I can find and putting it into the microwave for a few seconds, the stench more than acceptable for the secure destruction this heaves upon the items. I put them back into the backpack, deciding to wait for Will with the rest, turning back to the kitchenette, and pour myself a glass of wine. 

I settle down on the couch with a first edition of medieval poems just before the engine stops, an uncharacteristic flutter in my stomach making me take a large sip of the delightful bordeaux. 

He descends slowly, movements tightly controlled and yet infused with shivery fury, contradictions merging so beautifully in him. I feel his gaze upon me, burning and inflaming me, bruising in intensity. I inhale slowly, and the aroma of his scent is like a punch to my stomach, adrenaline and arousal, chemical traces and smoke, fury and despair, salt and sweat, cruelty and tenderness all vying for dominance. I put the glass away, safely far on the other side of the piloting seat, and get up, ignoring the sharp flashes of pain traveling up from the soles of my feet.

I raise my eyes to his, or, I try to, his eyes fixed at the height of my collar, huge and dark, still puffy and red from tear gas, curls a wild halo around his face, his mouth half open, a wild thing, tamed just so. I want to unleash it, feel its claws and I need, I need. Wills hands clench to fists as I step near, and I wonder for an instant if I miscalculated, if this will be -it-, if he will kill me for daring to endanger our refuge. A smirk plays across my face, this scenario one I would happily accept, here, now.

I stop right in front of him and I reach up, my hand careful as if touching a wild animal, the skin under his eyes hot to the touch and yet so tender and he lets me, my hand going up to his hair, feeling the salt in it, almost crunchy after hours at deck. My other hand comes up slowly to his zipper, taking the thick jacket off him, manually pushing it off his shoulders after a moment when he doesn’t shrug out of it. He snarls at me, teeth flashing, restraint almost broken and it travels through me, right into my groin, my body kicking into high gear. I pull his head up and back cruelly with the hand in his hair and I make him meet my gaze, destroying his last restraint in the process. My whisper is proud and grave and I could not mean it more.

„You are magnificent in your darkness. Let it reign.“

Wills hands shoot up, and he slaps my hands away, wrenching my head down and he bites into me, devouring me, my lips splitting under his sharp teeth. It only lasts a moment and then he pushes me away and spins me around, pushing me down over the table forcefully. I gasp, not bothering to hide my reaction, the blood thundering in my ears. Will rips my pants down, the sound of ripping cloth accompanying the action and a small part of me wonders that I am in fact not annoyed by this, the thought fleeting and inconsequential when Wills hand pushes my neck down, my breath fogging the tables surface. My hands move forward and I hold onto the table in preparation, knowing and anticipating, needing and hoping for what’s to come.

Will lines up, his fingers leaving most surely bruises, forcing himself into me, all thought and breath gone with the entry. I crave it, the claiming base beyond measure, needed beyond measure as well, a part of me that did not dare, did not wish, did not hope finally breaking open. I loose myself in the almost-pleasure almost-pain burn, hearing Will laugh harshly above me, knowing he knows that I anticipated this and it fully unleashes him, the thrusts just beyond painful now, his beautiful beast at the fore, dark sparks of pleasured agony shattering me. I can feel him pulse within me, branding me from within, my body a red hot mess of need, and he collapses on me, breathing harshly onto my neck. 

I reach back and entwine our fingers, knowing he needs to know it’s alright. Needs to know he did not indeed hurt me. I shift slightly, enjoying the almost painfully aroused state I am in still. I turn my head sideways and backwards slightly until I can catch his gaze, letting everything in me show in the smile that is and always will be just for him. I have never spoken the words except in the abstract and it surprises me how painful they are, meant and gifted, felt and honored, devotion and pure need flaying us both wide open.

„I love you, Will.“

Wills head drops down to my neck, his forehead hot against my nape, his tears leaving small stains on the inconsequential book, perfecting it with his essence.


End file.
